


Dragon Cults and Dragonborn

by Yunnon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn | Dovahkiin in Thedas (Dragon Age), Gen, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-27 21:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunnon/pseuds/Yunnon
Summary: A Nord Daragonborn wakes up In Thadas. Starts a cult, defeats Corypheus, defends mages, and accidentally terrorizes the Inquisition.





	1. Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes

The pain woke Sonja. Her left hand burned as if she had tried to grab red hot metal from the forge. The pain pulsed starting in her palm and rolling up the nerves of her arm. Instinctively she tried to move away, muscles tensed as she attempted to roll towards her right; and then with clink of iron chain being pulled taught her movement was stopped.

Adrenaline and fury pushed the fog of unconsciousness and pain away and left her abruptly aware. Eyes snapped open and Sonja assessed the dungeon she found herself in. She was bound. Chained to the floor like a dog. Torches dimly lit the stone room, there was a sturdy door directly in front of her, iron bars defined prison cells to her right and left, and four guards surrounded her in a circle. Each guard had their swords drawn and pointed at her, they were alert, angry, afraid, ready to strike her down the first wrong move. She was unarmed. Sword and dagger missing from her belt. Her helm and left gauntlet were missing as well. She wasn’t gagged though, and her manacles were not enchanted to drain magicka.

Her captors were clearly morons, and they would very soon be dead morons.

A bright flare of green light filling the room accompanying a new surge of pain up her arm distracted her, temporarily at least, from her plots of bloody mayhem. Her eyes dropped to her manacled hands to see what it was the they were torturing her with.

What in Oblivion!

There was light, bright green light, under the skin of her left palm. What kind of spell could possibly be causing it, and to what purpose? Sonja had never seen, never even heard of anything like it. And that was saying something because Sonja had seen a lot of weird shit.

So play along, as least for the moment. Long enough to get some answers anyway. Who had captured her? and how? what did they want with her? what had they done to her hand and what, besides cause pain, was it supposed to do? Then carnage. They would not live long enough to properly regret underestimating her, but their bodies would serve as a message to anyone else stupid enough to cross her.

She must have shown signs of waking before she actually had; because even though no one had entered or left the room since her awakening a few moments ago, someone had clearly gone to fetch a superior. The door in front of her was violently thrown open and crash loudly against the stone wall; admitting a dark haired imperial women in heavy armor who charged in as if she was expecting a pitched battle instead of single women in chains. She was armed with a sword and shield and had recently been in combat. At her entrance the guards sheathed their swords and stepped back towards the edges of the room, giving the women room to pace around Sonja like a angry sabre cat.

The imperial women was followed by a second women; red hair, pale skin, light armor, armed with daggers. Probably a nord with her coloring, though she wasn’t as tall as Sonja's kin tended to be. The redhead walked directly towards Sonja and stopped when she stood directly in front of her, her pace was deliberate and completely silent, her gaze assessing. When the imperial women was behind and slightly to the left of Sonja she stopped, and leaned in as if to whisper in Sonja's ear before speaking angrily at a level that wasn’t a yell but felt that way nonetheless due to her proximity.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Sonja remained silent; partly out of confusion. Conclave? What conclave? She had been at home working at the forge in the basement of Lakeview Manor last she recalled. She certainly had been at any conclave, or even knew of one happening. But also out of annoyance. Was all the theatrics really necessary? Were they supposed to impress her? Intimidate her? Because really one Shout and the woman would be on the ground writhing in pain with her face burned off. She probably wouldn’t even be able to scream in pain, just make that pained grunting noise. Most people stupidly inhaled when they saw a fireball coming at their face, either in surprise or terror, and thus swallowing the fire and burning their throat and lungs. At this range Sonja wouldn’t even need the full Shout, **Yol** alone would do the job.

The woman’s anger predictably did not abate at all in the face of Sonja's silence and she reached down to grab Sonja's arm just as the green light flared bright once more. “Explain this.” she growled.

Sonja gritted to teeth against the fresh wave of agony racing up her arm and thought frantically. The women were claiming that they had nothing to do with the magic burning in her hand. They were also claiming that a group of people were dead. They were acting as if they believed Sonja was responsible for the dead people. Nothing about this was making any kind of sense. They obviously had no idea who she was. The lack of a gag proved that even more than the accusation. But Sonja couldn’t have been abducted by mistake. She had been in her home with her guard down, but both her Steward and her Housecarl were capable fighters, and at any sign of combat she would have become instantly alert. Which meant nightblades prepared for whom they were attacking.

But why would someone go through the trouble of capturing her only to frame her for some random crime and leave her with an unknown group. It was stupid. The Thalmor she could see attacking her; for assassination, for torture, for interrogation, she could even see them attempting to frame her for some trumped up crime as a pretense for her execution. But even if they did miraculously gain the ability to capture her, then they would not be so careless about her imprisonment. They knew full well her abilities, they certainly knew about her mastery of the Thu’um. And they would need to gloat. Thalmor always felt the need to remind the so-called lesser races about how inferior they were. No tall, golden-skin, asshole elves in sight; ergo not the Thalmor.

But none of her other enemies had the numbers, resources, and skill in esoteric magics needed to pull this off. She had destroyed the Dark Brotherhood, Harkon and his vampires, Miraak and his cultists. She had never truly tangled with the Morag Tong; and if someone had paid for a writ of execution than she would be dead not imprisoned, the Morag Tong were too professional to play around. So then a new enemy. But what could they possibly be hoping to accomplish with this stunt? Were they hoping she would kill this group for them? Or were they simply trying to keep her busy and out of the way? And were these women really as ignorant as they presented themselves? She needed to know more.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there.” She stated as soon as she had breath to speak without stuttering. She watched the women’s reactions with narrowed eyes. If they really were patsies then her anger probably wasn’t helping her build a case for innocence. However, she was too tired and in too much pain to fake fear she did not feel. Confusion and indignation would have to do.

“You’re lying!” The imperial woman’s anger seemed to reach its’ breaking point. Sonja braced herself, set up or no, if the women struck she would fight back. Luckily the woman's’ wiser companion decided to intervene.

“We need her, Cassandra.” She pulled the imperial woman, Cassandra apparently, away placing herself between the two.

Oh they needed her did they? Typical. “Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent.” A nice empty statement that disclaimed any and all guilt without giving away any information if it turned out she was being played.

“Do you remember what happened, how this began?” asked the redheaded interrogator. Sonja frowned in thought. How to answer? She could announce herself as the Dragonborn, Thane of Skyrim, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, cruelly kidnapped from the safety of her home by unscrupulous and cowardly villains; and arrogantly demand her freedom. If these two were ignorant patsies that might even work. It would be embarrassing though; she had a reputation, one that doesn't involve getting caught with her metaphorical pants down. On the other hand she was still chained to the floor and if her captors turned out to be villains than the Thu’um was a surprise weapon that would be more effective if it remained a surprise. So was the Beast Blood. And her magicka. Escape would be much more difficult if she ended up gagged with twice as many chains and four times as many guards. So something vague, she could always claim later that she assumed they recognized her; she was pretty famous after all.

Well she’d been having a nightmare just before she awoke, that should be innocent enough. “I remember running. Things were chasing me.” Spider daedra, eugh, she had a twisted subconscious. “And then...a women.” or at least something glowing and vaguely women shaped, a Flame Atronach maybe.

“A woman?” Well that seemed to mean something to redhead. There was a women involved in this somehow. Well that wasn’t very useful at all, Sonja though. Cassandra had resumed her pacing, it was annoying.

“She reached out to me, but then…” So probably not a Flame Atronach, they were more prone to tossing fireballs than lending a helping hand, and Sonja would not have reach back to something made of fire. She couldn’t remember anymore of the dream. What she did remember was already fading and it wasn’t important anyway.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” Cassandra is in front of her again, and the redhead was named Leliana. Two names, Sonja thought sarcastically, we’ll all be great friends in no time. “I will take her to the rift.” What was a rift? Whomever Leliana’s woman was she had apparently earned enough trust to be let out of the dungeon. Or maybe they were just impatient with her nonsense rambling; Sonja certainly was.

Leliana left, and Cassandra approached her to undo the manacles. Unfortunately she seem intent on binding Sonja’s wrists with rope instead. She consider fighting. Taking out one warrior and four guards in light armor wouldn’t be difficult. She could be free and out the door in seconds. But she didn’t know how many guards were waiting outside and had no idea how far she would need to go before getting clear of this group. And she still wanted more answers. Best to continue playing along. Let Cassandra take her outside, get a lay of the land. Make an informed plan for once, instead of just winging it. The rope would be easy to burn through when it came time to escape. She would burn her wrist at the same time, but that could be healed.

“What did happen?” she ask both to hopefully get Cassandra talking and to distract herself from pain and insult.

“It will be easier to show you.” Cassandra stated as they stood and move towards the doorway. They walk silently down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs. Sonja keeped her attention on her surroundings in case she need to fight through them later. That turned out to be unnecessary though as it seemed they were in a rather small temple instead of a fort or a castle like she had feared. She didn’t recognize any of the statues or icons in the temple however, and couldn’t make out which Divine or Daedric Prince this cult worshiped. That was somewhat disturbing, she had thought she was familiar with all the different cults in northern Tamriel.

As they exited the temple, Sonja was temporarily distracted from taking in her surroundings and planning her escape by the fact that the rest of the guards were staying behind. It was apparently just her and Cassandra who were leaving. Really, she thought slightly astonished, she hadn’t been this badly underestimated since fetching the Dragonstone for Farengar Secret-Fire.

All her thoughts of indignation or escape came to a crashing halt though when she caught a glimpse of the sky. Specifically at the giant hole in the sky. Sonja staired in horror. Apparently when Cassandra said rift; what she really meant was giant Oblivion gate floating in the air spitting out daedra to rain down on the mountains below. Well fuck. This was bad. This was colossally bad. This was ‘Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world’ levels of bad. This was a Daedric Prince out to conquer and/or destroy Mundus bad.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” At some point while Sonja had been having a short panic attack Cassandra had started talking. “It is not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.” In spite of Cassandra's odd choices of vocabulary, Sonja understood that there were multiple Oblivion gates and that they were growing. By Akatosh this kind of thing wasn’t supposed to ever happen again.

“An explosion can do that?” That couldn’t be right. Akatosh himself had sealed the barrier between Oblivion and Mundus after the sacrifice of St. Martin Septim. No explosion could ever hope to undo the work of a god.

“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” Cassandra may be an ignorant cultist with a poor understanding of both history and the occult; but she seemed to have a good grasp on just how much danger they were in. Sonja had worked with worse people.

Then the Oblivion gate in the sky pulsed growing ever so slightly larger with a flash of bright green light. A pulse that was echoed by an identical flare of green light under the skin of Sonja's hand. As Sonja fell to one knee and gritted her teeth on the urge to scream; she thought rather cynically that perhaps Leliana and Cassandra may in fact have a valid reason to suspect Sonja was in some way involved in what happened.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you.” Cassandra was a font of good news. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

This was probably trap of some sort, but something needed to be done, and soon. One way or another she was heading to the top of that mountain. Might as well bring her native guide. “I understand.”

“Than…” wow Cassandra really seemed to think that Sonja would choose to run away and hide with the world falling apart around her. She was back to feeling insulted.

“I will do what I can, whatever it takes.” Always, no matter what the danger. Sonja had never run from a threat she had a hope of fighting and sometime even when she didn’t.

Cassandra seemed satisfied with her answer. They moved out walking through the small village and the refugee camp that had sprung up between the houses. The civilians understandably looked frightened and angry. “They have decided your guilt, they need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between Mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together, now they are dead. We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the Breach is sealed.”

Sonja was confused again, had this cult worship a living woman as one of the Divines, they couldn’t surely, that was madness. Whomever or Whatever this Justinia had been, apparently she had tried to organized a peace conference between two warring factions in the area. It was clear who the Mages were, and the Templars were likely associated with the temple. That was a strange distinction to make; most priest and priestesses had training in magic. Restoration magic went hand in hand with attending to the sick and the poor. So probably a religious distinction instead of magical, maybe a fight over what schools of magic were appropriate to study. Like outlawing the use of soul gems for example. Unfortunately it seemed that someone had invited daedra worshipers to the party and now most of the people involved were dead.

She decided not to ask. It probably wasn’t a good idea to question their religion while surrounded by an angry mob. If the details of their little regional conflict ever became important, than someone would be sure to want to tell her all about it.

Once they had exited the wooden fortifications that surrounded the village. Cassandra turned to undo her bindings. “There will be a trial, I can promise no more.” Cassandra’s words were kindly meant but Sonja doubted there would ever be a trial. In her experience there never was, not for her. She would either prove herself innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt long before events could reach that point or circumstances would change making the matter of guilt unimportant. Or she could die.

“Where are we going?” They seemed to be headed north and the large Oblivion gate was on the mountain peak to the west of them. Sonja normally prefered taking the most direct path to her destinations instead of sticking to roads that were typically excellent spots for an ambush. More than one of her friends, shield-siblings, and housecarls had pointed out that her so-called shortcuts often led to circling a mountain top the long way around, and also getting attacked by a dragon while half-way up a sheer slope with terrible footing and no cover, but they were just whining; Sonja knew her way was best, she had never once been attacked by an assassin whilst taking one of her shortcuts.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” That was a very good point. Sonja wondered how exactly she was supposed to close the gates using the green light, the Mark, in her palm. That the two were connected was blatantly obvious; but that was the only thing obvious about it. She stumbled briefly to a stop as a new wave agony and light radiated from her hand. Now that she was focused on it there did seem to be a slight feel of power underneath the waves of pain. The power was both like and unlike her own pool of magicka and connection to Aetherius. Hopefully using it would be instinctual, like learning to Shout. Hopefully closing the Breach would rid her of it, so she wouldn’t die.

“The pulses are coming faster now.” Cassandra had stopped beside her and was looking concerned. It wasn’t clear, however, if any of that concern was for Sonja's benefit. She hoped some of it was. In spite of poor first impressions Sonja was beginning to believe that Cassandra was a good person. Sonja nodded at her and they began moving once more. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

It had occurred to Sonja that her original belief of abduction from her home followed by prolonged unconsciousness must be incorrect. Too much had happened since Sonja’s last clear memory. She had traveled too far, had been involved in too much strange magic to have slept through it all. She didn’t recognize these mountains; and she had climbed just about every mountain in Skyrim; based on the climate she was probably in eastern High Rock on the western slopes of the Druadach Mountains. That meant she had amnesia, and other than the Mark on her hand she felt in good health, so unnatural magically induced amnesia.

“I don’t remember the Conclave, what made you believe I survived the explosion.”

“They say you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid to waste; including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.” So most likely she had skipped the explosion by being on the Oblivion side of things when whatever had happened, happened. She wondered if she had ever been in the Temple at all. Sonja had physically traveled to the Planes of Oblivion before, and distance on one side of a gateway had nothing to due with the other side. She could have entered Oblivion on the opposite side of Tamriel from where she was now.

She remembered the nightmare she had briefly described and wondered in light of what she now knew if it really had been as insignificant as she had previously believed. Could it have instead of a simple dream been the last wisps of memory abandoning her mind. She couldn’t remember it at all now. Just the memory of having dreamt and the short description she gave.

The mark on her hand pulsed along with the Breach in the sky. The pain was getting worse, but that wasn’t important in the face of the falling daedra that crashed down in front of them destroying the bridge they were crossing and dropping the two warriors down onto the frozen riverbed below. A second missile dropped another group of daedra through the ice in front of the them. Cassandra was running forward to attack before the first gray hand reach out of the water to pull the daedroth up onto the ice. “Stay behind me.”

It was charming really that Cassandra wanted to protect her, but unnecessary. She could hear fighting above indicating that the first group of daedra was being handled by the soldiers on the bridge. That just left the two in front of them. Cassandra had engaged the first, but it was taking all her focus and the second was moving towards where Sonja stood. It was a lesser daedroth of a type Sonja had not encountered before, but fighting it seemed straight forward. It didn’t use magical attacks preferring to close in and claw at its opponents. The Battlemage set her stance and readied a spell in each hand. A bound sword flashed into being in her right hand even as an ice spike flew out of her left. The daedroths movements became slow under the effects of the ice leaving it vulnerable to a quick deadly sword strike. Sonja prefered to use real swords in combat and save her magicka for Destruction and Restoration spells; but she was the Arch-Mage of the Mages College of Winterhold, she was never truly unarmed.

Sonja flexed the fingers of her left hand as she watched Cassandra dispatch her opponent. The Mark did not interfere with her casting, good. She hadn’t realized that she was worried about that until the relief swept through her.

“Drop your weapon, now.” Sonja obediently let the bound sword fall from her hand; it would disperse soon anyway. But, instead of watching it fade from existence before hitting the ground she keep her eyes on Cassandra's face trying to understand the sudden return of hostility. They had been getting along, Sonja had done nothing but defend herself, she hadn’t even pulled out anything fancy; that had been apprentice level magic.

“You’re a Mage!” Cassandra’s surprise seemed unwarranted. Sure Sonja was wearing armor instead of robes like most mages preferred; but battlemages and spellswords were common enough that no one should be shocked to meet one. Especially not in High Rock where mages were far more common in general than in Skyrim. Though Sonja really needed to stop assuming something was true simple because it was the only thing that made sense. Everything that had happened since she awoke had been confusing.

“I am a Mage. I used magic to defend myself when the daedroth attacked me. I will do so again when we encounter more daedra.” Maybe Cassandra was surprised by her magic because she assumed a Nord would not study magic. Maybe Cassandra’s cult outlawed the study of all the arcane arts and not just the morally ambiguous ones. She had mentioned that the local mages were fighting against some temple group. But no matter what Cassandra’s beliefs or prejudices Sonja would not humor them. All of Tamriel was in danger. If they were going to fight about this best it happen here and now; instead of later when there might be other more important foes to fight.

After several very tense seconds, Cassandra sighed and sheathed her sword. “You’re right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” With that she turned and began walking once more. Sonja watched her back for a moment and then followed.

 

* * *

 

 

They encountered several other small groups of daedra, but none that posed a significant threat. Soon they were climbing up a set of stone steps set into the mountainside and the sounds of battle reach them. “We’re getting close to the rift, you can hear the fighting.” At the top of the rise they found themselves overlooking ancient stone ruins. In the courtyard below a group of soldiers in leather armor fought a large group of daedra around a green lit crystallized hole in reality. “We must help them.”

The number of potential allies fighting amongst the daedra made most high level magic too dangerous to use. So Sonja stuck to the ice spike spell casting it repeatedly as she jumped down into the courtyard and ran towards the group. The spell weaken the daedra and slowed their movements leaving them vulnerable to the swords of the soldiers. She was not the only mage present; she could see the effects of another mage using the same tactic though she did not immediately make out the other mage in the chaos.

Only a few were left as the two women reached melee range. Cassandra engaged one while Sonja's sword flashed into existence just in time to gut another. She pulled the sword free and then spun to engage one attempting to flank her only to watch it drop dead at her feet. Behind where the daedroth had stood was an extremely short man wielding a crossbow. She stared. Shor’s Bones it couldn’t be. It was impossible.

So astonished was she that she completely missed the end of the battle and the approach of the elven mage. It was only when he grab her left wrist forcing it up towards the glowing the rift that her attention was brought back to the present. “Quickly before more come through.”

The Mark in her palm flared, she felt a pull and instinctively pulled back. A connection was formed and ribbons of power started to stream into her hand and go… somewhere. Her vision whited out, agony filled her entire body, more intense than anything before. She braced her legs, and gritted her teeth. She was Dovahkiin; she would not cry, or whimper, or scream. She would not fall.

It lasted an eternity and was over in seconds. She wrenched her arm out of the elf’s grasp and stepped away. Warily she regarded the sky where moments ago a rift had been and which now appeared to be completely normal. Well at least it worked, she didn’t know how, and it might just be the death of her, but at least she really could fix things.

“What did you do?” She needed to know how to control this new ability. Stakes were too high to leave things to chance.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” She regarded him, trying to decide it he was being obtuse on purpose. He was tall for a Bosmer, wearing coarsely woven robes, and no shoes. There was part of a wolf’s jaw hanging from a cord around his neck. His only weapon was a staff.

“You mean this.” She waved her left hand.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake; and it seems I was correct.” The elf might look like he learned whatever magic he possessed in a leather hut in Valenwood, but he talked like an academic.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Cassandra wasn’t going to be distracted from her ultimate goal.

“Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” Like many academic types Sonja had met, the elf didn’t seem to want to share any details of his theory until he had thoroughly tested it.

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The impossible man was speaking. Sonja had almost forgotten about him. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

Sonja’s mind spun as a number of beliefs and assumptions crashed to dust. Too many strange, impossible things had been happening since she awoke and it was dawning on her just how much trouble she was in. How lost she was. “That’s… a nice crossbow you have there.” It was an inane response, but it was the first thing that came to mind. What did one say to a member of a long vanished race. Would it be rude to point out he was a Dwarf? No one else seemed to find his presence remarkable. And it really was a very nice crossbow. Sonja was both a smith and a marksman, she wouldn’t mind a closer look at it.

“Ah, isn’t she. Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” Varric seemed pleased with the complement. With the single exception of Yagrum Bagarn no Dwemer had been seen in Tamriel since the Battle of Red Mountain in the first Era. “You named your crossbow Bianca?” The entire Dwarven race had collectively vanished all at once when Kagrenac had used his tools on the Heart of Lorkhan. The same way Arniel Gane had vanished when he used Keening on the warped soul gem at the College. “Of course, and she’ll be great company in the valley.” If they had survived, if they had been sent away instead of destroyed as most believed, then they had been sent so far that none had managed to return in over three thousand years.

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated Varric, but…” The conversation rolled around Sonja without her attention. “Have you been in the valley lately Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me.” Akatosh had sealed the gates of Oblivion forever at the end of the Oblivion crisis. Gates like the Breach, like the small rift she had just closed should be impossible. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” She didn’t recognize anything; not the mountains, not the soldiers uniforms, not Cassandra's livery, not the statues in the temple. She didn’t know anything about their religion, had never heard of the factions that were fighting. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.” Divines where was she!

She look at the elf, at Solas. She was suppose to say something to him. Thank him for saving her life; or question him about the Mark and the Breach. Instead she turned away.

“Cassandra where are we?” The warrior looked confused at the question.

“We are in Haven, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Yes, but where are we. Are we in High Rock? Hammerfell? Morrowind?” Cassandra looked more confused than ever, she looked over Sonja shoulder at Varric and Solas.

“We are in the Frostback Mountains, in western Ferelden.”

“I don’t recognize those names. How far are we from Skyrim? From Cyrodiil?” There wasn’t anywhere in all of Tamriel that hadn’t at some point been part of the Empire; everyone knew how far they were from Cyrodiil. But Cassandra did not. Sonja could tell from her expression that Cassandra did not know how far she was from Cyrodiil. Cassandra had never heard of Cyrodiil and was now worried that her prisoner might be crazy.

“Sheogorath! Never mind, let’s get moving, we should deal with the Breach. We can worry about the rest later.” Sonja started walking forward, she would find some daedra and kill them. Combat at least was familiar and uncomplicated. She only got a few paces thought before her conscious twinged at her. She was being rude. So she stopped and turned back. “If there are to be introductions; than I am Sonja Stormblade, the Dovahkiin. Solas, I thank you for saving my life.” With the formalities taken care of she resumed walking. A few moments later she heard the sound of them following.

“Do you think her trip through the fade shook a few marbles loose?” It was only the enhanced hearing granted to her by the Beast Blood that allowed her to hear Varric’s low comment.

“Be quiet Varric.” Cassandra’s voice wasn’t quite as low.

The group walked down the bank and back to the frozen river. Their surroundings then opened up as the frozen river fed into a small frozen lake. There were a handful of small fisherman’s huts surrounding the lake; all were abandoned, one was on fire. In front of the flaming hut was another group of daedra. Sonja instantly charged the group, Cassandra running a step behind her, Chained Lightning dancing off the tips of her fingers. “Varric, focus on the spellcaster's. Solas, ice the soldier’s.” It never occurred to her that as a prisoner, and a presumed crazy person, that she was the last person who should be giving orders. Whether they responded to her confidence or simply agreed with the logic of her tactics the others followed her lead. Under the barrage of lightning, ice, and arrows by the time the daedra were within the range of Sonja and Cassandra’s swords they were already mostly dead.

“So are you innocent?” Varric is seemed could not be silenced for long.

“I don’t remember what happened.” Sonja was trying not to think of all the many things she did not know.

“That will get you everytime. Should’ve spun a story.” Sonja occasionally enjoyed telling tales of her adventures, especially to her kids. But only true stories. Lying when you did not know the truth would be foolish, too easy to get caught.

“That is what you would have done.” Cassandra and Varric didn’t seem to like each other. She wondered if there was a story behind that.

“It’s more believable, and less likely to result in premature execution.” Amnesia was admittedly pretty unbelievable. Sonja remembered Helgin though, no one had given her the chance to tell a story, true or false. No one had cared. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and were it not for Alduin she would be dead. A glib tongue would not have changed that.

Another group of daedra ended the conversation. They were getting close to the forward camp where Leliana had gone.

“Earlier you said you were The Doverkin, what’s that?” Sonja winced at Varric’s pronunciation.

“Dovahkiin,” she said the word slowly stressing middle syllable, “it means Dragonborn in the common tongue.” Seeing the lack of comprehension in his expression, she elaborated. “It means I can kill Dragons, and that I am a master of the Thu’um, the dragon language.”

“Dragon’s have a language?” Varric sounded incredulous, well he would see soon enough.

“Yes.”

“So you kill Dragons?”

“Yes.”

“And sometimes you talk to them?”

“Less often, but yes.”

“Hun.”

There was another of the smaller rifts. It was in front of a wooden gateway. Whomever these people were, their ancestors had been serious about protecting this temple. There were stone fortifications at every choke point; they were old though, ancient ruins left to rot. The newer fortifications were wooden and flimsy, hastily built. If their enemies had been intelligent enough to make use of all the cover and set up ambushes; than fighting their way through this valley would be much more difficult.

They had a routine by this point. Solas and Varric staying back and attacking at mid to long range, and Cassandra and Sonja charging straight in. Sonja would begin with a Adept level magic spell doing massive amounts of damage to a large area, and then conjure a sword and focus on melee attacks, so as not to injure Cassandra. They had to fight through two waves of daedra before Sonja felt that odd pull. She thrust her left hand forward and up and pulled back. Connection, power, pain. Sonja took a deep breath and blinked her eyes to clear her vision.

“Whatever that Mark on your hand is, it’s useful.” Sonja nodded Varric’s comment but did not respond

“Open the Gates.” They had reached the forward camp. Soldiers surrounded them, tending to the business of war. Searching for food, water, medicine, more arrows for an empty quiver, a quick patch on a piece of broken equipment, or just a quiet spot rest for a moment before heading back to the fight.

“We must prepare the soldiers.” They heard Leliana’s voice before seeing her.

“We’ll do no such thing.” She was arguing with an middle aged man wearing red and white robes, with heavy golden jewelry.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it’s our only chance!” The man was short, and soft in a way that Sonja associated with city folk; merchants, scribes, and the like, he was clearly no fighter. If this were home she would call him a Breton. But she didn’t know anything about these people or their races.

“You don’t know that.” The pair were standing at table in the center of camp. The camp itself was stretched out across a long bridge; and Sonja briefly wondered at the wisdom of that considering how the other bridge had been destroyed earlier.

“Ah, here they come.” He straightened his back and tried to make himself look commanding.

“You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is…” Leliana was walking towards them, her expression said that she was tired of dealing with fools.

“I know who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this prisoner to Val Royeaux to face execution.” Grand Chancellor Roderick was asking to get shoved off a bridge.

“Order me! You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat.” Cassandra apparently shared Sonja’s opinion.

“And you are a thug, but a thug that supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana as well.

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!” This was all reminding Sonja too much of the Civil War. ‘Oh, Alduin is going to the destroy the world, and is currently eating the souls of our honored dead. We’d love to help, but only after first dealing with our petty political problems.’ Didn’t anyone realize that politics wouldn’t matter if you were dead.

“Isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing issue.” Sonja only had a limited amount of time. She needed to close the Breach before it became too large to do so; and rid herself of the Mark before it killed her. Then she could deal with bureaucrats.

“You brought this on us in the first place!” Sonja’s hands were tight fists at her side and **Fus**  was burning at the back of her throat. How dare he! He had no evidence to support that accusation. “Call a retreat, Seeker, our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” Cassandra tried to reassure the frightened man.

“How? The Valley is overrun. You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.” Talos, there was a reason that no one sane let civilians into the war room. They had no idea how to reasonably assess threats and they wasted everyone’s time with their fearful bleating.

“We must get to the Temple, it’s the quickest route.” Cassandra was resolute.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” Leliana was choosing to focus on discussing strategy instead of continuing a pointless argument with a man who refused to acknowledge that he had already lost.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It is too risky.” Cassandra shifted her focus to Leliana and strategy. The Chancellor was forgotten.

“Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost.” Roderick didn’t like being ignored. He needed to understand that lives would be lost no matter what. Better to spend a few dozen here and now, than to run away like cowards and allow the problem to grow until it consumed lives by the thousands.

Above them the Breach pulsed and expanded; the mark in her hand pulsing in time. The bright flare of light drew the eye of everyone present. Sonja grimaced and wrapped her right hand around her left wrist pulling both hands closer to her chest. She wished everyone would stop arguing and actually do something.

“How do you think we should proceed.” Sonja considered. If it was herself alone, or with a single companion, like she normally traveled, she would take the mountain path. Rely on stealth to take whatever the unknown danger was by surprise and eliminate it quickly. But she wasn’t alone; she didn’t truly know the skills of her companions, and none of them wholly trusted the others. Either way there would be soldiers fighting in the mountain pass. Brave and honorable men and women fighting and dying for her sake. Better to meet certain danger head on, fight side by side, and overcome it together; than to venture into the unknown and risk betraying those soldiers by failing.

“I say we charge. I won’t survive long enough for your trial. Whatever happens, happens now.”

Cassandra nodded, resolve in every line of her body. “Leliana, bring everyone in the valley, everyone.” And then the whole group set off with Sonja leading the way.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

 

* * *

 

  
They marched together up the mountain pass. Soldiers falling in behind them as they passed. Quick footed messengers running ahead to warn officers of the new plan. Other groups breaking off to the left and right to cover their flanks. Somewhere behind them, Leliana, issuing orders, and chivvying tired soldiers into motion.

An hour later the mountain peak came into view. The ruins of a colossal stone structure was illuminated with ominous flashes of red and green light. A final stone wall sheltered an emergency response camp where soldiers fighting on the front line fell back for immediate medical attention. The line of corpses a somber reminder of when that wasn’t enough.

They moved quickly through the camp. Beyond the wall was a battlefield. There was one of the small rifts directly in front of them constantly spawning daedra; but daedra were also coming from the left and right indicating other, unseen rifts. Add to that the daedra falling from the sky from the Breach that was nearly directly on top of them. It was a miracle that the soldiers were holding as well as they were.

The reinforcements spread out with Sonja’s group heading for the rift; where a blonde haired officer stood alone fruitlessly trying to plug the flow of enemies. Sonja waded in; a sword appearing in one hand, a spell in the other. She spun and slashed and daedra fell before her relentless attacks. She stabbed one daedroth in the stomach and then instead of pulling her sword out released the handle and summoned another to slash the throat of a second daedroth. There were advantages to fighting with conjured weapons after all. She still preferred real blades.

The moment the last daedroth fell before their assault a second wave began to form. “We must seal it if we are to get past.” Sonja fired a Ice Spear at the green spriggan-like daedroth that had just finished forming. She agreed with Solas but she couldn’t stand still and focus on the rift while daedra were trying to claw at her throat. She decided to see if they shared the same weaknesses as spriggans and sent an Incinerate spell at the second green one, spriggans were vulnerable to fire. Both daedra died quickly when hit with her Expert level spells, so she really didn’t learn anything about the best ways to fight them, but was satisfied none the less with her experiment. She summoned another sword and used it to shatter a daedroth that had been frozen solid by one of Solas’s ice spells.

That seemed to be the end of the second wave, so Sonja threw up her left hand hopefully in the general direction of the rift. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, Sonja bit her lip. Than pull, connection, power, pain. Sonja was gasping for breath by the time the rift finished sealing. “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” She looked to her right where Solas was now standing, watching her intently. She nodded.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Said Varric. She didn’t want to think about the big one.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.” It was the blonde officer. He looked exhausted; hair soaked with sweat, and armor cover in ichor. He had likely been out here for hours.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it? I hope they're right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” The commander was a tall man, a centimeter or two taller than Sonja herself. If this were Skyrim he would blend right in.

“I’ll do everything I can. You have my word.”

“I suppose that’s all you can ask of anyone.” He looked towards Cassandra and added; “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” The soldiers would set up a perimeter around the temple preventing any daedra from moving inward and attack them from behind.

“Maker watch over you. For all our sakes.” That was a prayer. Was the Maker one of their gods?

“Talos guide you.” Talos seemed a better choice of God to invoke under the circumstances than some craftsman god. Sonja set out for the Temple and thus missed the looks of surprise, confusion, and suspicion her blessing garnered.

She jumped off a balcony into what once a courtyard or large entry hall. It was impossible tell if the ruin had ever had a roof. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Solas identified. There were corpses surrounding them, some still burning. They were frozen in the poses they held as death claimed them. Over here someone had tried to run, had fallen to his knees, with his arms uselessly shielding his head. Over there someone had attempted to take shelter behind a wall, curled up in a fetal position. Death had come swiftly for these poor souls; escape had been impossible; but it hadn’t come quick enough. They had seen it coming, had a moment of terror, of despair, before the end. “What’s left of it anyway,” said Varric.

“That is were you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” They passed through what used to be a hallway. More corpses. Someone with their head thrown back, jaw opened in an eternal, silent, scream. They rounded a corner and entered a large open area. The explosion had originated from the center of this area. No way to tell if it had always been this open; it could have been the heart of the Temple, or it could been a series of smaller rooms with the walls blown away. There were no more corpses; the fire had been too hot this close to the blast and anyone caught in it completely destroyed.

“The Breach is a long way up.” They were directly below the Breach, and the enormous portal into Oblivion seemed to fill the entire sky. At the center of the room was a second rift; larger than any Sonja had encountered so far, but still miniscule compared to the Breach overhead.

“You’re here. Thank the Maker.” Leliana and a squad of soldiers had caught up with them.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple.” Leliana nodded acknowledgment of Cassandra’s order and turned to the soldiers to start issuing orders. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?” Sonja was determined, ready to do whatever necessary. But how?

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?” The Breach was far above them and there was no path to approach it. She would need wings to get near enough to affect it; and somehow there hardly ever seemed to be a friendly dragon around when you really wanted one. Odahviing was too far away to be summoned.

“No, this rift is the first, and it is the key. Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.” Solas’s plan would hopefully work. She was fairly sure she wouldn’t survive draining the Breach directly.

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful.” If Sonja was alone she would just jump over the ledge, however, she didn’t want to risk any of her allies breaking an ankle right before possible combat with daedra. She set out to the right heading for a lower spot to jump from.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” The deep masculine voice emerged from empty air and echoed around them.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked the question, but Sonja wanted to know too. Were they being spoken to by a powerful daedroth from the other side of the Breach? The comment did not seem like it was addressed to them, but then who was he speaking to, and why could they hear him.

“At a guess; the person who created the Breach.” Solas’s was being obtuse again. The nature of how they were hearing the voice and where it originated from was more important at this point then his identity.

The path was treacherous with rubble. Boulders had been lifted up from surrounding mountains and then dropped down carelessly, the sides of the room melted from the heat of the explosion. Spears of an unnatural crystal jutted out of the walls.“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

“I see it, Varric.” Sonja had never heard of lyrium but standing near it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“But what’s it doing here?” And why hadn’t it shattered in the explosion?

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it.” These people built temples on top of this stuff?

“It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.” They continued on, carefully moving around the red crystal.

“Keep the sacrifice still.” The air resonated with the words, but Sonja still could not identify a source. Who was he speaking to.

“Someone help me!” This voice was high pitched, feminine, and terrified.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice.” Justinia was the woman Cassandra and Leliana worked for, the one who these people worshiped like a god and called Most Holy, the one who was dead. Were they hearing her ghost?

“Someone help me!” Not a second call for help, a repeat of the first, a echo, every note exactly the same.

“Release her!” That voice it was...

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But...?”

A picture formed in mist, made from light and shadow, transparent in places and completely colorless. A phantom Sonja ran into a room and called out “Release her!”

“Run while you can! Warn them!” an old human woman hung in the air, her arms outstretched, she wore a fancier version of the same robes worn by Chancellor Roderick and a silly hat.

“We have an intruder. Kill her, now!” The form the voice came from was nothing but the shadowy outline of a tall figure with glowing eyes.

“Fus...” The vision shattered apart at the beginnings of the Dragon Shout; the words echoing around the room but lacking the power and resonance Sonja associated with the Thu’um.

“You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” Cassandra sounded frantic. Too bad Sonja didn’t have any answers for her.

“I don’t remember!” She didn’t. She couldn’t remember leaving her home. Couldn’t remember coming to this strange land. Couldn’t remember anything. The events of the vision weren't familiar at all.

“Echos of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Solas seemed familiar with the phenomenon that had just occurred; but what was the Fade and how could it show visions of the past. Did it steal memories? Was that why she couldn’t remember? “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened, and sealed properly and safely. However opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” Right. Priorities, she could question Solas when the world wasn’t ending.

“That means demons. Stand ready!” At Cassandra’s command soldiers fanned out encircling the rift. Above them archers positions themselves next to stone pillars and boulders that would provide cover they could duck behind. Sonja approached the rift and held out her hand. Mentally she pushed at the energy crackling under her skin and when it flared, pulled back. Connection, pain. It was like trying to catch and hold lightning. A currant of green light connected Sonja and the rift; and then a second current shot out and illuminated a colossal figure. It was three meters tall and shaped like a troll. It roared “Now!” archers fired. The daedroths hide was thick and scaled like a dragon's; most of the arrows bounced.

A large, clawed hand fell toward Sonja’s head forcing her drop and roll to the side, breaking her connection with the rift. When she came up Cassandra was between her and the daedroth. She let loose an Ice Spear over Cassandra’s head, hitting it in the chest and charged forward. A Sword formed in her right hand as she reached Cassandra’s side. On the other side of the beast two soldiers ran forward to flank it. It was fast. It’s large hands easily batting aside the swords stabbing at its knees and thighs; and it wasn’t slowed at all by Sonja and Solas’s ice spells. Leliana and Varric seemed to be the only archers present with a draw strength heavy enough to pierce its thick hide and even their arrows barely seemed to do any damage.

They needed to weaken it. Sonja knew a way to do so, but the timing had to be just right. She couldn’t afford the hit the soldiers behind it. The daedroth spun, its clawed hands swinging at the soldiers. The one on the right dived out of the way, the one on the left was caught and flung to the side. All clear; only the daedroth stood before her. Sonja roared, “ **Krii Lun Aus**!” Kill, Leech, Suffer. The Marked for Death Shout was one of the more subtle ones, but used correctly it was incredibly effective. At first look it had no effect, other than an insignificant drain on the target’s health; however every second after being cast it would eat away at the target’s armor or hide, within a minute the beast would be vulnerable even to the weakest of weapons. Cassandra shot her a quick startled glance, but didn’t seem to register the Shout as magical. Forty seconds before she could shout again.

“Disrupt the rift!” Sonja wasn’t sure who gave the order, but obediently allowed her next doge to pull her out of melee range. Cassandra charged forward with another soldier, each sword strike biting slightly deeper than the last. Her left hand raised, she pulled at the rift. Pain. The daedroth screamed and fell to one knee, momentarily stunned. She threw an Ice Spear at its head. Their blows were hurting it now. Fifteen seconds.

The daedroth surge to feet roaring, six of the lesser daedra emerging at it’s call. She cast Chain Lightning at the closest. Lightning hit, arced, then hit again, and again. She ran forward, a new sword forming. Gutted a daedroth and then ducked under a whip of lightning wielded by the large daedroth. Four seconds.

The lightning whips had scattered all the swordsmen, they were focusing on the lesser daedra now; along with Solas, whose ice spells froze lesser daedra in place leaving them easy targets for steel blades. The archers though were still firing away at the large one, each arrow digging into its scaly hide. She ran. Not directly at the large daedroth, but heading for a position to its right. Spun towards it. The Daedroth was now between her and a stone wall. A deep breath and “ **Yol Toor Shul**!” Fire, Inferno, Sun. The Fire Breath Shout.

The daedroth seemed to crumple under the strength of her dragon fire. She look out over the silent battlefield. Everyone was watching her except Cassandra, who stabbed the last of the lesser daedra, and then turned towards Sonya to join the staring.

Sonja raised her left hand. Pull, connection, power, pain. She held on. Five seconds, ten, fifteen. Everything was pain. Nothing existed but her and the current of power. Finally it was over. She fainted.


	2. Haven (an Inquisition)

**Interlude**

 

“The thing I would really like to know,” Cullen asked, “is how the prisoner went from being a unarmed swordsman to one of the deadliest mages any of us have ever seen? How did we miss that?”

The group were sitting around a table in Leliana’s tent. It had been a few hours since the battle at the temple and the senior officers had been chased off to get some sleep before they passed out. Typically they had chosen to gather and share intel instead. As a small nod to the fact that they were in fact still human, they were eating dinner while they talked.

“We did not know anything about her, we still don’t. No one saw her in Haven before the Conclave, no one was able to identify her. The only reason we have a name now is because she chose to introduce herself, and we do not know if she was honest. None of my contacts have heard of a warrior or a mage matching her description.”

“How is that possible? She is extremely… memorable?”

“It should not be possible. I have put out more feelers, but at this point I am entirely in the dark about who she is, where she came from, and how it is she can do magic… unlike anything we have seen before.”

“So did we just assume that she wasn’t a mage? Just because she was wearing armor? Did anyone think to have a templar examine her? She walked out of the Fade!”

“It was not just because of the armor. Both Solas and our own mages examined her while attempting to prevent the Mark from killing her. All agreed that she had no connection to the Fade beyond the Mark itself. Currently we are theorizing that the mark is interfering with their ability to sense her magic.”

“And we did not just trust the mages. I confirmed it myself. As you may know as a Seeker of Truth I have been trained to sense the lyrium in the blood of templars and mages. I have never met any mage, even apostates and young apprentices who did not have at least some trace of lyrium in their blood; yet she does not. It is as if she has never in her life been exposed to lyrium. It was extremely disconcerting when she cast a spell.”

“Everything about her said she was a warrior. Her armor is well cared for, of excellent quality, and fitted to her precisely. The sword and dagger we took from her seemed ordinary at first look, but once removed from their scabbards had dragonbone blades. Her musculature and calluses are those of a woman who spends a considerable amount of time practicing swordplay and archery. She has scarring on her that is consistent with a melee fighter, and most mages prefer to stay at a range. She was obviously no common mercenary, but there was nothing to suggest magic.”

“She is a melee fighter, and a swordsman. On that at least we were correct.”

“Where did she get a sword if we had taken hers? I didn’t get a good look, but it seemed enchanted.” 

“Not enchanted, an enchantment. She summoned it out of thin air with a spell, and it faded back into air when she dropped it.”

“Like a knight-enchanter?”

“A knight-enchanter needs a physical hilt to anchor the spirit blade, and the blade is magical in nature fading from sight when not striking and bypassing armor when it hits. The blade she summoned glowed with blue fire and appeared from nothing, but was an ordinary sword in every other respect. She would summon it carry it around for a minute or two and then it would disappear. Or she would release the handle and it would disappear sooner. 

“Her sword summoning spell, while fascinating, is not nearly as interesting as the spells she cast fighting the pride demon. She breathed fire, like a dragon!”

“It sounded like you were fighting a dragon from where I was, what with the roaring and all.”

“In retrospect, she might have tried to warn us about that.”

“What! Cassandra, why didn’t you say anything?”

“When she introduced herself, she said ‘I am Sonja Stormblade, the Dovahkiin.’ And then later Varric asked her what that meant, ‘Dovahkiin’, she said it translated to ‘Dragonborn’ and that it meant she could kill dragons and speak their language. I didn’t pay it any attention at the time, it all sounded like nonsense, she had been talking about all sorts of strange things, she claimed she had never heard of Ferelden, and asked about places that don’t exist. I supposes that since the roaring spells sound and look like dragonfire, it could be described as a dragon language.”

“The ‘Dragonborn’... strange, I have never heard of such a thing. I will send out inquiries, perhaps it can lead us to where she came from. She said she never heard of Ferelden? What else did she say?”

 

* * *

Sonja awoke slowly, her head ached and her mouth was dry. Her empty stomached warred with exhausted muscles over the conflicting desires to get up and find food or to roll over and continue sleeping. The bed she lay on was soft and the sheets smelled faintly of lavender. Reluctantly she sat up and looked around hopefully for a pitcher of water. 

She was alone in a small wooden cabin. A fire merrily burned in the fireplace next to the bed but most of the heat it put out was stolen by the small breeze passing through the two windows on opposite sides of the room. Windows. Divines save her from architectural choices made by southern lowlanders. There was a desk in the corner and a raven in a cage. There didn’t seem to be any food or water. Her weapons were still missing, and unfortunately her armor had disappeared as well. 

At some point while she was unconscious someone had bathed her and dressed her in unfamiliar clothing. And while typically she preferred cleanliness to any other option, she really wished they had left her to marinate in her filth. It was incredibly creepy thinking about strangers manhandling her body, and _ stealing her things _ , while she was helpless. Sonja raised a hand to impatiently tuck a lock of hair behind her ear before standing up to go raise hell over the return of her belongings, when a flicker of green light caught her attention. 

She froze with her left hand before her face. Gray eyes glared through messy blonde hair at the offending Mark on her palm. Well there went the hope that closing the rift had rid her of the Oblivion cursed thing. It didn’t hurt anymore though; just a lingering sensation of pins and needles; like she had slept in the wrong position, to let her know it was still there. She flexed her fingers and rotated her wrist watching the light flicker eerily under her skin. Her dexterity didn’t seem affected by the magical mark and while there was a sense of power there, easier now to detect without the pain, it wasn’t the same as when she prepared a spell and held it in her hand. Experimentally she attempted to cast Dispel, but wasn’t surprised at all when it had no effect. The College of Winterhold did not teach the school of Mysticism and so she had next to no skill with dispelling magic. Next she cast a simple healing spell, and while it chased away some lingering muscle pain and most of her headache, it again had no effect on the Mark. 

Experimenting came to an end when the door latch rattled. Sonja quickly cast Ironflesh, and prepared to cast paralyse with her right hand. An elven lass; probably not bosmer, definitely not from Valenwood; almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of Sonja sitting on the bed hands raised before her defensively and glowing with magicka. 

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” The crate the girl had been carrying fell to the floor with a crash.

“It’s all right.” Sonja tried to reassure, lowering her hands and dismissing the readied spell.

It was too late however as the girl threw herself to the ground in supplication, babbling with eyes averted “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the Mark on your hand.” The girl cast a quick frightened glance towards Sonja’s green lit hand. “It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

Three days, no wonder she was so hungry. “Then the danger is over?”

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.” The girl stood up on shaky legs and started backing towards the door. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘At Once!’”

“And where is she?” Sonja stood.

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At Once!’ she said.” and then the girl turned and fled out the door. Sonja stared after her slightly bemused; she wasn’t that scary, was she? Well hopefully she could find a servant made of slightly sterner stuff, or she would never get any breakfast.

She poked around the boxes and barrels in the small cabin quickly before heading out to find Cassandra. And was gratified to find her missing belongings in a chest in the entryway. Well most of her equipment anyway, her helm was missing, but there was a good chance that it was sitting on a table back in Skyrim, she had a tendency to leave it off when at home. She quickly shed the foreign clothes and pulled on the much more comfortable, to her a least, heavy armor. It wasn’t her best set of armor, and it definitely wasn’t her most of impressive set. She had daedric, dragonplate, and stalhrim armor sets for when she feels the need to intimidate her enemies, or inspire her allies, with the image of The Legendary Dragonborn. She prefers the dawnguard armor set for day to day use, however, it’s practical and comfortable. And she doesn’t need yet another of Eorlund’s lectures to know that steel armor could be just as effective as ebony when worn by a skilled warrior.

Before pulling on her gauntlets she roots through her belt purse taking a quick inventory. Forty-three gold, the white phial, and a king's ransom in jewelry. Aela says she is like a magpie collecting shiny things, but the truth is that each and every ring and necklace has unique enchantment, and all are useful in the right circumstance. Sonja considers her collection and then dons a amulet of Dibella because she had the feeling that today will call for diplomacy; and then slides the Ring of the Hunt onto her finger just in case diplomacy doesn't work and she ends up needing to run.

She braids her hair back at the temples and secures it into a low ponytail at the nap of her neck. She pulls on her gauntlets, and rests her left hand, the Mark concealed beneath dark leather, on the hilt of her dragonbone sword. She’s as ready as she can be. Weak from hunger. Missing her bow, her potions, her scrolls, and her soul gems. Lost in a completely foreign land with no allies. She’s faced worse odds. She opens the door and strides confidently into the sunlight. 

There is a crowd waiting for her. They line up on either side of path outside of the hut. Soldiers standing at attention mix with civilians who crane their necks hoping for a better view. She pauses before them and casually examines her surroundings. The crowd whispers excitedly to each other; her sensitive ears pick out ‘Temple’ and ‘Fade’ and ‘Herald’; but without context most of what they say is meaningless. The village is as small as she remembers, the open path the crowd leaves for her leads towards the only noteworthy building in sight. The small temple where she was imprisoned. That's probably the ‘Chantry’ then, where she will supposedly find Cassandra. She begins to walk forward, paying no mind to her audience. 

She is no stranger to awed crowds. Every time a dragon attacks a city or village in Skyrim, she collects one. The Divines know that there wasn’t ever a Nord born who had the good sense to run away from a dragon attack. And so afterward she stands amongst them, blood pounding from battle, a new dragon soul settling within, and has to listen as they process the knowledge that ‘the legends are true’. Like the Nords back home, this group will probably get over the need to stare as soon as they finish the first round of drinks at the tavern. She lets her gaze drift upwards. It’s mid morning, a lovely warm spring day, the mountains sparkle in the sunlight. The view is unfortunately ruined by the malevolent glow of the Breach. She turns her back to it.

The temple is the same as before. A simple stone building, older than any of the surrounding structures, decorated with banners; a golden sunburst on a red background. There are fewer soldiers than before and a more women wearing the red and white robes that Sonja is beginning to associate with priests and priestesses. Slightly familiar angry voices can be heard from the room in the back of the hall.

“The prisoner failed Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way.” 

“I do not believe that” 

“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor, as is yours.”

Sonja opens the door revealing a small meeting room. Cassandra and the priest from the forward camp are rehashing their argument. Leliana and two warriors in heavy plate armor stand watching. “Chain her,” the man orders, “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” Sonja narrows her eyes at the closer of the two warriors and lets her hand tighten on the hilt of her sword. She can just barely make out his eyes, wide with alarm, through the slits in his faceplate. 

“Disregard that, and leave us.” Cassandra counters the order; and the two men hastily make for the door, closing it behind them.

“You walk a dangerous line Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” Cassandra has a point, the Breach is a gateway to Oblivion, Sonja has managed to metaphorically close the door, but the door remains; and whomever or whatever created it in the first place can likely easily open it again.

“I take it that you would like my help?” She says to Cassandra. 

“You have done plenty. Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine.” She isn’t sure how seriously to take his blustering. She doesn’t know how influential he is in the hierarchy of his religion. Or how widespread and influential his religion actually is. Or what his religion is. The don’t actually worship a living man or woman as a Divine? Do they? She has to be misunderstanding them somehow.

“Have a care, Chancellor, the Breach is not the only threat we face.” Cassandra at least seems to feel that he can be disregarded. But if he’s toothless then why are they listening to him in the first place.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others... or have allies who yet live.” Leliana takes control of the conversation.

“ _ I _ am a suspect?” He sounds incredulous. Is he new to politics? Anyone who tries to claim power in the wake of tragedy can be suspected of foul play. After all the guilty are most likely to be the ones who gained something when everyone else lost. 

“You, and many others.”

“But  _ not _ the prisoner?”

“I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to her for help.” Sonja can’t help but be gratified by Cassandra’s defense.

“So her survival, that  _ thing _ on her hand, all a coincidence?” 

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” 

“You believe your god has brought me here, as some kind of champion?” Sonja wonders, it would not be the first time a god has chosen her to be their champion, without any regard to her own feelings on the matter, however in her experience god's like to be memorable and are very blunt about their expectations.

“We are all subject to the will of the Maker, whether we wish it or not. No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.” Cassandra turns away, and walks towards a bookcase.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana adds prosaically, “and your Mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide.” The man is incapable of listening to reason.

Cassandra returns and throws down a heavy book onto the table in front of the Chancellor. “You know what this is, Chancellor. A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She stalks forward towards the Chancellor forcing him to back away towards the doorway. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

The Chancellor sends one panicked glance around; at Cassandra, Leliana, and Sonja and finding no allies decides to flee from the room. 

Leliana brushes her fingers across the cover of the book as the door closes behind him. “This is the Divines directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice; we must act now, with you at our side.” Cassandra issues her plea for assistance.

“What is ‘the inquisition of old’ exactly?” Sonja asks.

“It predated the Chantry: people who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.” Says Leliana.

“After they lay down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.” Cassandra continues the explanation. 

It feels like joining the Dawnguard again, or the Blades. A small desperate group who are the only ones to recognize an immense danger threatening everyone, hopefully this will have a better ending than her time with the Blades. “If you’re truly trying to restore order…”

“That is the plan.” Leliana affirms.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” Cassandra holds out her hand. With a slight smile Sonja takes it. 

“I do, however, have some more questions.” She adds. “I am a stranger to these lands. I do not know how it is I came to be here, but wherever we are I believe it to be very far from my home, because nothing I have encountered so far is at all familiar. If I am to be of help I will need some things explained  to me. Your religion for example.” She hesitates and then continues in a slightly more lighthearted tone, "I’m also going to need breakfast; I believe it’s been several days since my last meal.”

“Oh dear, and it is almost time for lunch,” Leliana laughs. “I will send for food immediately.” As she moves towards the door to speak to a servant she asks; “Where are you are from, I wonder.”

“Skyrim. It is the northernmost country in Tamriel. Until the civil war four years ago it was part of the Tamriel Empire. I grew up in the Velothi Mountains which form the border between Skyrim and Morrowind. These days, however, I roam so much that I cannot name one part of Skyrim more my home than any other.”

Leliana paused at the door and looked back catching Cassandra’s eye. “You are right none of those places sound familiar, one moment, I’ll be right back.”  

“You truly do not remember coming to the conclave?” Cassandra asked. 

Sonja shook her head. “I remember being at home; at one of my houses, I own several. I was at Lakeview Manor which is in Falkreath Hold overlooking Lake Ilinalta. And then I awoke here, in your dungeon with this strange magicka beneath the skin of my hand. Nothing in between except the memory of having dreamt. It is strange and suspicious; too much must have happened for me to have slept through it all; and I was not injured in a way that could explain amnesia.”

“We know you were not unconscious the entire time. We saw the vision at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You were there, the Divine called out to you.” 

“I know. And I was unexpected too, ‘an intruder’, which means however I came to be there it was likely not the work of the same individual who held her captive.” 

“I’m back, and I brought a map. Perhaps some place will look familiar to you even if the names are different.” Leliana brandished the rolled parchment before her as she walked through the door. Sonja, however, was far more interested in the servant following her carrying a tray.

“Oh, blessings of Mara upon you!” Sonja grabbed the first bowl of stew before the servant could place them on the table and dug in. Hungry werewolves were not typically well known for their danty manners or for their restraint. Of course the same could be said for Nords in general, so maybe it isn’t a werewolf thing. She didn’t notice the scandalized look on the servant's face; nor did she see Cassandra and Leliana trading another set of significant glances. She did, however, make note of fact that there was also bread and cheese on the servants tray. 

After finishing her stew, and taking the edge off her hunger, she returns her attention to the rest of the room. Leliana has spread her map over one end of the table, it’s corners weighed down with books. Sonja sets down her bowl and makes herself a cheese sandwich, before meandering over to examine it. The map is large and detailed, a work of art made by a master cartographer. The landscape it describes is completely alien. 

She swallowed before speaking, after all she’s starving not savage. “This is your country?” Her eyes trace over unfamiliar names, Tevinter, Rivain, Antiva. With ocean to the north and east it should be a map of Morrowind. It’s not.

“This is a map of all Thedas, see here is the Empire of Orlais.” Leliana points helpfully towards an area spreading across the southwest corner of the map. 

“Where are we?”

“Here,” Leliana taps the map, “Haven, in the Frostback Mountains, near the border between Ferelden and Orlais.” 

Sonja frowns, glances at the compass rose decorating the corner of the map and then back to Leliana’s finger. “We are so far south?” 

“Yes. Couldn’t you tell? It’s so cold here.”

“I... no.” Sonja glances around and then grabs a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal. She begins to quickly sketch out a quick map of Tamriel. Compared to the elegant map of Thedas it’s crud, small, and simple. “In Tamriel, the farther south you journey the warmer it becomes.” She explains as she draws. “The hottest countries are Black Marsh, Elsweyr, and Valenwood. They contain tropical jungle, forests, swamps, and grasslands. The heartland, Cyrodiil, is a mostly temperate land of forests and plains, ideal for agriculture. The Summerset Isles are located to the southwest a rumoured paradise of long summer days and cool ocean breezes. Hammerfell is mostly desert; sweltering during the day and freezing at night. High Rock and Morrowind while northern remain temperate due to warm ocean currents and the heat produced by Red Mountain. Skyrim, the Old Country, is the northernmost country in Tamriel. A harsh country of towering mountains and deep valleys. The northern holds are so cold that snow lies deep on the ground year round and in some parts of the Sea of Ghosts you can walk from island to island upon the ice.”

“It is the opposite in Thedas the warmer countries are northern.” Cassandra looks from one map to the other. “You believe you are from a completely separate continent?” Her voice is heavy with doubt.

Sonja shrugs. “I am from Tamriel. I have never before heard of Thedas.” She waves her hand at the two maps. “Legends tell of other continents. My ancestors first came to Skyrim from Atmora which is suppose to be north of Tamriel across the Sea of Ghosts. The Akaviri, who invaded at end of the First Era and throughout the Second were said to come from a continent to the east. I do not know how I came to be here, but another continent is my best guess so far as to where I am.” 

 

* * *

Sonja emerged from the Chantry with a promise from Cassandra and Leliana that they would find someone to answer her questions and a stack of three books to get her started. They, unfortunately had too much on their plates already, what with organizing their new Inquisition, to personally spend the afternoon sitting around answering questions. 

The crowds have dispersed, but the people of Haven still seem inclined to stare and whisper to each other whenever they catch sight of Sonja. Whenever it looks like she might approach or attempt to speak with one of them, they startle like rabbits, blush, and avert their eyes. Cassandra and Leliana clearly have their work cut out for them if they plan to turn this lot of timid milk drinkers into some kind of fighting force. 

With the thought that these people would likely never get used to her if she hides herself away; she points her boots towards the building that smells like hops and barley, and upon walking through the door, mentally pats herself on the back for having successfully found the tavern. Taverns were always a good spot to pick up information and if no one is interested in talking then she can always read her books in full view of anyone who feels the need to gawk. It is harder to maintain feelings of intimidation and awe of a person, if that person persists in doing nothing more interesting than drinking ale and reading. 

The bartender is a nervous woman named Flissa, who doesn’t seem interested in conversation in spite of the nearly empty tavern. She also doesn’t seem to know much about Haven or the people who live there in spite of freely admitting that she’s one of Leliana’s informants. Sonja orders an ale, which leads to several minutes of apologies as Flissa denies having any brew fine enough. Followed by an awkward conversation in which Flissa is seemingly deeply offended by the idea that Sonja might need to pay for her drinks. Sonja sits at a empty table, with her inferior ale, and contemplates how badly she would need to abuse her new privilege before Flissa grows a spine and either shows Sonja a bill, or the door.

The books are a copy of ‘The Chant of Light’ which was apparently their holy book, and most likely the reason everyone seemed to refer to the temple as ‘The Chantry’. She’s fairly certain that ‘The Chant of Light’ is Cassandra’s personal copy. It is a beautiful edition, soft red leather with a golden sun embossed on the cover, the gilt edged pages so fine they are nearly transparent. It has clearly been read many times, but by someone who has shown enough care that even Urag gro-Shub would have little cause for complaint. A quick glance inside the front cover reveals an inscription from someone named Beatrix, thanking Cassandra for her years of loyal service. The second book is more of a pamphlet; entitled ‘The Hierarchy of the Chantry’ and is apparently intended for ambassadors. And the third and final book is a thick battered tome titled ‘Tales of the Destruction of Thedas by Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar’, it was supposed to contain several chapters, helpfully bookmarked, that cover much of the events described in ‘The Chant of Light’ in a slightly more prosaic manner.  

She slouches in her chair and stretches out her legs, propping them up on the seat of the chair across from her. She starts with ‘The Hierarchy of the Chantry’ and is deeply relieved to learn that ‘Divine’ is for these people simply a title for their head priestess. They're still a bunch of crazy heretics though. She reads throughout the afternoon, never having to share her table no matter how busy the tavern gets. The crowd is somewhat hilariously subdued, torn between the need to enter and get a good long look at her, and the fear of making too much noise and disturbing her. She doesn’t bother telling them that as a Companion of Jorrvaskr she fully capable of concentrating even in the most jovial of company.

The late afternoon sunlight is fading into lengthening shadow when someone finally decides to join her. She looks up and sends Varric a slightly wolfish grin. To his credit, he only briefly hesitates before taking a seat across from her, in the chair next to her improvised footstool. 

“A little bird told me you were hanging out down here. Good book?” asks Varric

“Somewhat confusing in places, but I’ve always enjoyed epic poetry.” She catches Flissa’s eye, and waves two fingers in the air. “This Andraste women is alright. She kinda reminds me a little bit of St. Alessia, who led the slave rebellion against the Ayleids and formed the First Empire. Do you think Andraste will be victorious against the Imperium?”

“I… um...” 

“You’re right. Don’t tell me, it’ll spoil the ending.”

“You’re really not from around here, are you.”

“I’m really not.” Flissa arrives with two ales and sets them down on the table. 

“So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?” Varric asks once Flissa has left. “I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas, to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.” 

“You’re right last time something like this happened to me it took a least a week,” she quips, the memory of Greybeards summons echoing in her mind. “Though, seriously, I’ve almost no idea what’s going on.”

“You don’t know the half of it. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for moral’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“An open gateway between mundas and the planes of Oblivion is threat to all mortal races. The Breach needs to be sealed the sooner the better.”

“If it can be sealed. You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes, we’re going to need a miracle.”

She frowns as she looks down into her drink. Thinks about St. Martin’s heroic sacrifice to end the Oblivion Crisis. “Yes, a miracle.” she murmurs. She thinks about standing shoulder to shoulder with Tsun in Sovngarde as they faced down Alduin, and wonders how many miracles one woman can pull off in a single lifetime.

 

* * *

The next morning Sonja was out of bed the moment the sky begin to lighten with the first rays of pre-dawn. She hasn’t slept deeply since taking the beast blood, unconsciousness doesn’t count. She dresses quickly in her armor and is the first one to reach the practice yard set up outside the wooden gates. After she stretches she approaches a training dummy, draws her sword, and begins going through basic sword drills. Cassandra joins her a few minutes later.

The two women practiced in silence as Haven awakens around them. The sun peeks over the horizon and soldiers begin to fill the yard. Night guard shifts and patrols end and the day shift begins. Quiet early morning chatter and the scents of cooking fill the air. The rhythmic sound of a hammer hitting steel can be heard from the blacksmith.

After nearly an hour of practice Sonja steps back and sheathes her sword. If she was at home she would switch to archery practice at this point, or if she was at Jorrvaskr she might challenge Aela to a contest, but until she replaces her bow she will forgo her normal practice. So with one last stretch she sends a quick smile at Cassandra and then turns towards Haven with plans to hunt down some breakfast.

She ends up back at the Tavern for breakfast, though the plate that Flissa eventually delivers seems much higher quality than what everyone else is eating. Sonja is not the type to complain if her porridge comes with fresh fruit and honey and so doesn’t draw attention to the inequality. 

A grumpy man stops at her table to congratulate her on still being alive. She soons learns that his name is Adan, and he is at least partially responsible for her not dying after closing the Breach. So she promptly thanks him and invites him to join her for breakfast. He seems reluctant at first; but becomes much more friendly when it turns out that just sitting at her table results in getting to share the food bounty.

As they eat she learns that he’s an apothecary, and he originally came to Haven escorting his former teacher, Master Taigen, a well respected alchemist who tragically died at the conclave. Adan doesn’t have much in the way of training as a Healer, but is apparently more capable than anyone else who managed to survive the explosion and so has somehow ended up temporarily in charge of the infirmary. He bemoans being undersupplied and unqualified, and mourns the loss of some of Master Taigen’s notes, which in addition to their sentimental value, contain some potentially quite useful potion recipes.

She offers him her assistance as a Restoration Mage. An offer that is initially met with confusion. It seems these people call the school of magic that involves healing Creation. Once they figure out each other's terminology he readily accepts her assistance. They leave the tavern together and she spends the morning in the infirmary applying healing spells wherever they will do the most good. 

It’s been days since the worst of the fighting ended and most of the wounded have either died or been treated for minor wounds and sent back to their own tents to sleep. Those that remain fall into three groups. Those that were seriously wounded but will, given time, probably make a full recovery. Those who need surgery to recover, but are too injured to survive traveling to the closest surgeon, and so are being kept comfortable in hope that their condition will stabilize. And those who have picked up an disease or infection. She heals those she can and sends them back to their tents with instructions to take it easy for a day or two, and get plenty of food and rest. She stabilizes those that need surgery and then gets out of the way; and she advises the sick to pray at the temple for a blessing. 

As she works she sees both Leliana and Solas watching at different times from the entrance of the tent. Neither attempt to interrupt or speak with her, so other then sending them a friendly nod each, she ignores them. She emerges in the early afternoon having done all she could and slightly relieved to be free from the fervent attention both of patients and nurses. Sooner or later she’s going to have to confront someone about all this “Your Worship” nonsense; it’s getting rather ridiculous. 

She ends up grabbing a late lunch from a strict older woman who’s in charge of the soldiers canteen. The women’s in the middle of orchestrating lunch clean up and dinner prep and still volunteers to make Sonja something fresh. She waves the women back to her work and grabs a sandwich and a couple of apple’s. Then she heads for the gates, she’s tired of these people and their weird attitude towards her. She going to spend some time in the wilderness. Explore a bit, maybe do some hunting.

She takes a right out of the gates walking past the practice yard; where a harassed officer is attempting to teach ham fisted idiots how to hold a sword. She walks until she can no longer hear the sounds of people; past an abandoned house and a old logging stand. Until there is only her and the the forest. And then she checks to make sure she wasn’t followed.

**“Laas Yah Nir** ” Life, Seek, Hunt. The Aura Whisper Shout. She spins carefully in place, carefully checking in each direction for the telltale red glow. Alone. She stretches her arms above her head and arcs her back. Then she strips, leaves her weapons and armor hidden in a bush, and lets the Beast Blood take her. 

She runs. 

Runs away the tension of two days spent surrounded by strangers who seem to idolize her; but not trust her. Tension caused by the need to behave and not antagonising potential allies. Tension caused by worry for her children and friends left behind in Skyrim. Tension caused by not knowing when or how she can return home. 

Two hours later she circles back to her belongings and checks the area thoroughly before releasing the transformation. She immediately misses having fangs and claws. The wolf skin never feels quite right, but then neither does the human skin. Her dovahzii, her dragon spirit knows it’s meant to have fangs, and claws, and wings. It’s a feeling of discontent that she could never explain until Aela gave her claws and Odahviing showed her what it meant to fly. 

She takes her time walking back to Haven. Reluctant to end her afternoon of peace. She needs to build trust, however, and acting secretive is a bad way to go about doing so. They need her, or they need the magic in her hand, which is nearly the same thing; so they’re humoring her, taking a chance that she’s the kind of person they want her to be. They don’t actually trust or believe her though. Not yet, anyway. She doesn’t trust them yet either; but she desperately needs information about this land, and its people. Needs allies if she’s going to survive this mysterious web she’s tangled in. 

She stops briefly at the abandoned house. It’s strange that in a village that is overflowing, where over half the residents are living in tents, that a house is allowed to stand empty. Yes, it’s outside of the village proper; but not so far that screams for help couldn’t be heard. She tries the door and finds it unlocked. It’s an older building than most in the village, built by people who understood how to keep warm in the mountains even in winter. Most of the room is dusty and empty, but there’s a fire pit in the center of the room and the embers are still warm. Someone has been using this house then, maybe off duty soldiers, out of sight of officers and nobody asking for coin like at the tavern. She spots some papers and a journal on a desk, and when she takes a closer look, see’s that they’re alchemy notes. She gathers them up to show to Adan. 

Cassandra and the blonde officer they encountered outside the Temple of Sacred Ashes are standing together at the edge of the practice yard. They both look up as she turns the corner of the path and comes into view. She wonders if they’re waiting for her, or if this is just another example of these people's constant need to stare. She figures it’s the first when Cassandra breaks off her conversation and walks over to fall into step with Sonja.

“It was good of you to spend so much time in the infirmary this morning,” said Cassandra. “We’ve been hearing glowing reports of you all day.” 

“It was no trouble,” Sonja replied. “I wish I could have done more. I’ve only ever trained in combat healing. I’m skilled enough with closing wounds, but I don’t know any spells for curing illness, and I’m no alchemist. There were many who I could do nothing to aid.”

“You did more in a couple of hours, than anyone else here has been able to accomplish in a couple of days. You saved lives, and eased the suffering of many; you should feel proud of that.” 

“Thank you.”

“Is it common, in your homeland, for a mage to master such a diverse range of skills?” Cassandra asked.

“If you mean are battlemages common? Sort of, more so in other parts of Tamriel where mages are more common and accepted. Nords, the people of Skyrim, are pretty distrustful and disdainful of mages, so you don’t see as many, but you wouldn’t find it extraordinary to meet one either.” Sonja shrugged, “And I wouldn’t, personally, call my skill set particularly diverse. I’m pretty focused on combat skills only. Even healing magic; I only bothered to study because my standard battle tactics tend to focus on overwhelming offence, while neglecting defence. When I was younger, and less experienced, that tended to mean I got injured a lot. So I learned to put myself back together. I admit, I am well known for being an exceptionally skilled battlemage, but with the exception of the Thu’um, my skill set is not particularly unusual.”

“The Thu’um? Is that what you called the dragon language. I assume it has to do with the way you roared and breathed fire at the Temple?”

“Yes. The Thu’um, or the Voice, is an ancient Nord art; in which you project your breath and vital essence into a Shout. To the dovah, the dragon’s, the Thu’um is natural and instinctive. For men it takes months, or years, of study and meditation to learn even a single Shout. To become a Tongue, a master of the Voice, is the work of decades. Few, in this day and age, dedicate themselves to the study the ‘Way of the Voice’ and those that do, the Greybeards, isolate themselves in a monastery near the peak of the tallest mountain in Skyrim and believe the Thu’um should only be used for the worship and glory of the gods.”

“Yet you are not old or grey, and you claim to be a master of this art?” 

“I am Dovahkiin.” 

“Which means Dragonborn. Which means you are a master of the Voice. You are talking in circles. Be clear.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never needed to explain before;” Sonja paused, “do your people truly have no legends of the Dragonborn? No? Well, history and legend speaks of incredibly rare individuals who are born with the soul of a dragon; Dragonborn. These individuals number some of our greatest heroes and blackest villains. Like the dragons, dragonborn have a natural affinity for the Voice. For me learning to Shout was as quick and instinctive as learning to use the Mark to close those Rifts we encountered the other day.”

“You believe yourself a hero of legend?”

“I believe I am gifted with a unique and powerful ability. Some of my ancestors have used this ability to achieve greatness; others have been foul and corrupt. If I choose to use my gifts for good, evil, or not at all is up to me. How my actions are perceived, whether they call me a hero, or a villain, or simply a warrior of no particular note; is something for the historians and bards to debate in the years to come. Dovahkiin, is not title, you cannot earn it. It is a description of what I am, a hint and warning of what I may be capable of. If I had never slain a dragon, if I had refused Jarl Balgruuf's request to assist his soldiers at the western watchtower, than I may never have learned to Shout and I may have never have known that I was Dovahkiin; but ignorance would not have changed my nature. St. Alessia never Shouted, or faced a Dragon in battle, she was still Dovahkiin.”

“I see.” Cassandra frowned thoughtfully before changing the subject. “Ambassador Montilyet, the last member of our council arrived from Val Royeaux this afternoon. We are planning on meeting in the Chantry to discuss our strategy. Would you be willing to join us.”

“Of course.” The two women walk in silence towards the Chantry. Sonja hopes that they aren’t planning on asking her for advice. She’s still entirely lost, and she never spent a lot of time studying the theoretical side of magic. She has no idea where to even begin figuring out the Breach. Draining the rift at the ruined Temple nearly killed her and didn’t weaken or shrink the Breach. If she’s going to destroy it she’ll need a way to fly up close; a flying mount or a levitation potion or spell. She’ll also need both a way to channel more energy, and spells to protect her from the harmful effects of that energy. 

“Does it trouble you?” Sonja follows Cassandra’s gaze to where she’s absentmindedly rubbing at her left palm.

“I wish I knew more about it. Or how I got it.” 

“We’ll find out.” Cassandra sounds more determined than confident. “What’s important is that your Mark is stable. As is the Breach. You’ve given us more time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed; provided the Mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

Sonja rolls her eyes, “What harm could there be in powering up something that we barely understand.”

Cassandra snorts, “hold onto that sense of humor.” Sonja stares after her as she enters the office at the back of the Chantry. Her statement was sarcastic, but not meant as a joke. They knew nothing about the Mark, except that it was connected to the Breach and that its energy was coercive. Did Cassandra have no concern for Sonja’s health as long as she closed the Breach before she died? Varric’s warnings about tragedies and martyrdom, suddenly gain more weight. She should speak to him again. Find out what he knows about these people, and why he dislikes Cassandra so much. She should also find time to talk with Solas; and discover how much he really knows about the Breach, and how much is just guesswork.

Now, however, is not the time to be pondering dark thoughts about her current allies. She cannot run until she has learned enough of this land to know where she can run to. So she pushes her worry to the back of her mind and enters the room.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces,” Cassandra gestures at the blonde officer.

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.” He looks almost as tired as when they met in the valley, clearly he didn’t get to spend three days sleeping.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” Cassandra gestures towards the only person in the room not wearing armor. An lovely woman with a pleasant expression and features as dark as a Redguard.

“I’ve heard much. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” says Lady Josephine with a smile.

“And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

“My position here involves a degree of…,” Leliana begins.

“She is our spymaster,” Cassandra interrupts.

Leliana sighs, “Yes. Tactfully put Cassandra.”

Sonja nods, “Well met. I am Thane Sonja Stormblade, the Dovahkiin. Harbinger of the Companions of Jorrvaskr, and Arch-Mage of the Mages College of Winterhold.” If their going to be formal, than Sonja can match them title for title. Leliana’s eyebrows shoot up, Cassandra and Cullen frown, and the Lady Ambassador makes a hasty note on her sheaf of papers. 

“I mentioned that your Mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.” Cassandra apparently decides to ignore Sonja’s titles and proceed with the meeting as planned.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana states.

“And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well,” Commander Cullen responds hotly.

Cassandra sighs, “We need power, Commander. Enough power poured into that mark…”

“Could destroy us all,” he interrupts. “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so…”

“Pure speculation.” Leliana speaks over him. It’s clear that they’ve been arguing over this matter for some time already. It seems this is not a meeting to discuss strategy but a briefing for Sonja’s benefit. Except they forgot to agree on a course of action before starting the briefing, and so are wasting time bickering.

“I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable off.” It seems Sonja is going to have to find someone to explain to her all the details of their petty regional dispute. Going to speak with mages to learn more about the magic involved in the Breach sounds wise. Pouring more magic into the Mark, will almost certainly kill Sonja if no one else, but she doesn’t know anything about the Temple group that Cullen wants to speak with instead. Do they have mages skilled in the school of Mysticism who can dispel and absorb magic? If so that sound far more promising.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak with us yet.” Lady Josephine interrupts the argument smoothly, proving that she does in fact have some skill in diplomacy. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition;” and then she turns to Sonja, “and you, specifically.”

Sonja raises an eyebrow, “Can’t you simply ignore them?” How much influence can one cult wield?

“If only that were possible.” Leliana replies wistfully.

“Some are calling you… an apostate mage… the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry,” Josephine tries to explain. “The remaining clerics have proclaimed it blasphemy; and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellors Roderick doing, no doubt,” Cassandra claims.

“It limits our options. Approaching the Mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“Just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” Sonja asks.

“People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing,” Cassandra answers. “They have also heard about the woman seen in the Rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading…” Leliana continues.

“Which we have not.” Cassandra interjects.

“The point is everyone is talking about you,” Leliana finishes. So her new allies have deliberately antagonized a major political power on her behalf. Wonderful. It’s not that she can’t see the potential advantage of becoming a well known and glorified folk hero. It is, after all, how she managed to organized the cease fire during the Civil War so that she could capture Odahviing. It’s that no one thought to consult her on her new status and she has never before claimed a title that she wasn’t positive that she was entitled to. 

“It’s quite the title. How do you feel about that?” Commander Cullen asks.

She thinks their priests and priestesses know blasphemy when the see it. “I think it’s a reckless thing; putting words into the mouths of the gods.” She frowns, “I do not know your Maker god. But I know the Nine Divines, and if one of them wished to send a message to their people then they would ensure that the messenger remembered their meeting. If… and I do mean if… I was sent here by Divine means; whether it be my gods or yours, whether it be fate, or prophecy, or providence. Then the matter will be made clear in the fullness of time, and until that time it is foolish to make assumptions.”

“Then you don’t believe in the Maker?” The Commander sounds unreasonably shocked.

“I think, Commander, that you are the only person who I have ever heard so much as mention the Maker.” She shrugged. “Cassandra, Leliana, and that Chancellor all kept going on about this Divine woman who was dead. I was nearly convinced that I had been abducted by a group of insane cultists who worshiped a living woman as a goddess. It was extremely shocking.”

Josephine drops her pen, Cullen and Leliana both gap at her, and Cassandra starts attempting to splutter a denial. “You… the Divine… no… the head of the Chantry.”

“Yes. I know now. I’ve been reading those books you gave me. The Hierarchy of the Chantry, and the Chant of Light. In this land you use the word Divine as a title for your head priestess; but in Tamriel we only use Divine to describe the gods themselves. So it was very confusing.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“When you are surrounded by an angry mob it is never a good idea to begin questioning their religion. And once we were clear of the mob I had heard enough to tell that whomever Justinia was, you and Leliana mourned her sincerely. My questions were not so important that they couldn’t wait until I was speaking with someone who would not be hurt by tactless questions. I only brought up the matter now because, even though I mentioned it yesterday, I don’t believe you truly understand how completely foreign I find your culture. Who are the Templars? I assume they have something to do with the temple, but I can’t figure out in what way. Why are they fighting with the mages? If the rebel mages won’t speak with us, are there not other groups of mages we could seek out? How widespread is your religion? And how did it gain so much influence that everything we do is obstructed by their disapproval?”

She stops to take a breath, and tries to rein in her frustration. “I sorry. I do understand what you’re trying do. You’re planning on building me up as a folk hero so that you can use the influence and goodwill that creates to further your cause. It’s reckless, but the situation is desperate, and sometimes in desperate situations you have to take risks. However, if you don’t start taking me seriously, and stop giving me half answers,” she looks at Josephine, “or completely dismissing my questions;” she switches her gaze to Leliana, “then your plan won’t work. Because I’ll inevitably end up saying something clueless and completely offensive to the wrong person.”

“Our most sincere apologies.” Josephine does in fact seem both sincere and apologetic. She’s a good choice for ambassador. “You’re right, I at least, have not truly considered the implications and difficulties of your background. The Maker is worshiped throughout all of Thedas. Par Vollen the home of the Qunari, and Orzammar the Dwarven capital are the only two nations in where belief in the Maker is not the dominant religion. Little but the Chantry ties Orlais, Nevarra, Ferelden, Antiva, and even Rivian to a common cause. Andraste’s Chant is familiar across kingdoms, a source of many shared customs. As the spiritual leaders of Thedas the Divine, and the Grand Clerics, can have far more influence than any king. With the death of the Justinia and many of the most influential Grand Clerics at the conclave, the Chantry is left disorganized and terrified. What was once a beacon of hope and stability in the world, has been brought low.” 

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some you are that sign.”

“And for others a sign of everything that’s gone wrong.”

Sonja crosses her arms and asks, “they aren’t more concerned about the Breach? The real threat?”

“They do know it’s a threat.” says Cullen, “they just don’t think we can stop it.” 

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse.” If the religion was as large and influential as Josephine said; then she probably wasn’t exaggerating by much when she said everyone. 

“There is something you can do. A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“Why would she help a declared heretic?” Sonja asks.

“I understand she is the reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters? You will find Mother Giselle tending to refugees in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.” Leliana points to the area of the map she’s talking about. “Our latest reports say that the fighting between the renegade Templars and the apostate Mages have destabilized the region. You will need to protect her and the refuges in her care; and if possible, restore order to the area. Cassandra will go with you and during your journey she can familiarize you with the different fractions involved; and answer any other questions you may have.” 

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisitions influence while you are there;” Commander Cullen adds.

“We need agents to expand our reach beyond this valley, and you are better suited than anyone to recruit them.” Sonja barely restrains a snort at Josephine statement.

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave all this to the Herald.” 

## 


End file.
